All That's Left
by Vaetra
Summary: A series of semi-connected one-shots about the twisted, practical, brutal, and at times beautiful relationship between Mr Todd and Mrs Lovett. Do I need to say Sweenett? Complete! probably.
1. All Those Empty Faces

Meaningless drabble I wrote in like an hour during study hall, when I should have been doing English homework

Meaningless drabble I wrote in like an hour during study hall, when I should have been doing English homework. It's pretty much Sweeney angsting about life in general.

Time had little meaning for a man like Sweeney Todd. Days melted into each other, the flow of endless empty hours broken only by the brief periods of restless sleep the barber might obtain when he was too exhausted even to maintain his otherwise constant vigil by the window. Thoughts of revenge were second nature to him now, an unconscious habit he used to fill all that endless, meaningless time. Even the constant ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner was not enough to anchor him to reality, or give him a sense of the hours as they passed. He drifted from day to day on a sea of blood, only semi-aware of the world around him. He couldn't say whether it had been weeks, months, or even years since that fateful day when he had stepped back into Mrs Lovett's pie shop, back into his old life. He could only say how many men he had sent sputtering to their deaths since then. 

As he pondered those men- his victims, he supposed- it occurred to him that Benjamin Barker would have been horrified at this new version of himself- a murderer, completely numb to the pain of the people whose throats he had grown so used to slashing. But Sweeney Todd felt none of this revulsion. To him, his customers were nothing but shells, vessels of blood waiting to be spilled. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't even really see their faces. This realization shook Mr Todd, startled him a little. No matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn't remember any of their faces. He could recall other details- a folded collar, stringy grey hair, the impatient tapping of a foot as Sweeney would pause, gazing adoringly at his shimmering friend, but when he got to their faces, the barber's mind would go blank. It was as though they had never even had faces to begin with.

Now that he came to it, Mr Todd thought, he didn't know if he could remember what _anyone_'s face looked like anymore. The judge, sitting smugly in that wretched courthouse, was a faceless black smudge of hate in his memory. The sailor boy, Anthony, was young, hopeful figure, but his features reflected none of this, for in Mr Todd's mind, he had none. Even Johanna, a swaddled babe, had nothing but a blur where _her_ face should be. _And Lucy…_ he _must_ remember Lucy… He saw the yellow hair, the petal-pink dress, but, like a photograph that had been gone over with loving fingers too many times, her face was entirely worn away.

_No!_ In a panic, Mr Todd rushed to the mantle where he knew the portrait of his beloved wife and daughter would be. He stared at it as hard as he could, trying to memorize that image from his past. And though he could see Lucy's features, he calm smile, her innocent eyes, they didn't seem to make a complete face, like puzzle pieces that didn't fit together. They were empty. 

Horrified, Mr Todd sank into his barber's chair, his eyes no longer seeing anything at all. The world was a black pit, filled with all the people he love, and those he hated, and those he didn't know- all of them reduced to faceless monsters. Mr Todd closed his eyes. He couldn't see any of them anymore, except-

"Mr T?"

Mrs Lovett. Almost afraid of what her might see, Todd looked up, looked at her face. Her eyes, large and dark, looked even bigger ringed with makeup and circles of exhaustion; her pale skin almost glowed in the gloom, surrounded by tangled dark brown curls. Her plum-coloured mouth curved into a smile of tentative bemusement. Sweeney smiled back, and was delighted to see his expression of joy and relief mirrored on his accomplice's face. Her face. Yes, Mr Todd thought, Mrs Lovett had a face. 


	2. Found

This was somewhat inspired by my own life, because lately I've been finding all these really cool things: a silver spoon (no j

This was somewhat inspired by my own life, because lately I've been finding all these really cool things: a chipped mug, a silver spoon (no joke), a striped paper clip, even a pair of fingerless gloves! This is sort of Mrs Lovett's pov of chapter (or part) one, but that's not really the focus of the fic.

_P.S. Oh, and I don't know how Mrs Lovett was supposed to have met Albert, so I just made it up._

If life had taught Mrs Lovett one thing, it was that _nothing_ was ever given, at least not her. No, everything she had in her life she had scraped or saved or fought hard to obtain. But sometimes she just found things. Mrs Lovett always thought that found objects were the best kind. Someone else hadn't wanted a thing, and _she_'d been clever enough to pick up what they'd tossed aside. They were sometimes a little careworn, but usually in surprisingly good condition.

Why, just the other day she had found a navy blue ribbon lying limply in the cobbled streets, and when she'd washed the mud off and trimmed the frayed ends, it had looked quite pretty tied in her hair. Half the silverware in her house she'd found sitting on a table in the open-air market, or dropped under the wheels of cart, and she kept time now on a little silver pocket watch one of her customers had accidentally left in the shop last week.

Mrs Lovett found not only objects, but _people_ as well. She'd found her poor Albert lying bruised in an alley, his pockets gone through by a cutpurse, and she had taken him back to her shop, cleaning him up and kissing him on the cheek before sending him on his way. She glanced fondly at his picture on the wall. _Poor thing…_ Toby, too, she had found, selling some kind of piss elixir at the market. She had taken him out of the care of that dreadful Italian, given him a bottle of gin, and now he was like a son to her. _Must've been me gentle heart…_ she mused. But Mr Todd was by far her greatest find. She had hardly been able to believe her eyes when he had stepped again into her shop after such a long, lonely absence. His lips were thinner, his eyes more sunken, but he was still the same beautiful barber she had loved all those years ago.

She remembered trying to control her fluttering heart as she took him by the shoulders and guided him upstairs, the way his arm was warm in her hand- warm, when everything had been cold for so long, the way he gazed at his keen-edged friends, smiling at them. If only he would look at _her_ with the same joyful passion he showed a polished piece of silver. _If you only knew, Mr Todd…_

She sighed and stared up at the ceiling, half hoping it would miraculously dissolve, and the barber would fall down through the now-nonexistent floor of his shop, and Mrs Lovett would catch him in her arms and-

A loud thump from above cut off her admittedly unrealistic fantasy. Wildly thinking that maybe the ceiling really _was_ collapsing, Mrs Lovett leapt off the couch and was about to run to the door, when she remembered herself and stopped in mid-step, listening hard. No other sound came from the floor upstairs, but that in itself was odd. Why wasn't Mr Todd pacing? You could set your watch to that man's restless steps, but now all was quiet above.

Perhaps he had fallen… that would explain the thump. It seemed unlikely, though- Mrs Lovett had never seen him so much as stumble before, always moving as smoothly and silently as a white tiger. But Mrs Lovett was able to admit to herself that any reason she might think of was really just an excuse to go up to his room. Perhaps he was actually sleeping, and she might stand in the doorway, letting her eyes linger on his darkly beautiful features, as they were never able to while the man was awake.

The baker's stomach was a little knot of apprehension as she quietly ascended the stairs and opened his door, slowly so the bell inside wouldn't jingle. It did not take her long to see that Mr Todd was neither asleep nor lying helpless on the floor, but hunched in his diabolical barber's chair, his faced covered by slender hands. He didn't seem to have noticed her. Mrs Lovett took a tentative step forward. "Mr T?"

She spoke quietly, but his head snapped up, his face full of anguish. As Sweeney's black eyes locked on hers though, relief flooded his tense form, and he smiled- a true smile, not the flat, false expression he used to mask his usually black mood. Mrs Lovett smiled back, delighted. She didn't know what had sparked this sudden change in him, but she didn't care. She had found Mr Todd. And he was hers.

_Alright, so I need to know: should I continue this like an actual multi-chaptered story, complete with a plot and everything, or just keep on with my semi-connected one-shots? Let me know!_


	3. Good

The dough made a satisfying smack as she whacked it with her rolling pin

_Alright, so I'm continuing with my oh-so-brilliant plan of semi-connected one-shots… mainly because whenever I try to do a multi-chaptered thing, it tends to go to hell in a hand basket. So I'm trying to trick my brain into thinking that there's no plot, when really, there might be… Just a tiny one, though. ___

The dough made a satisfying smack as she whacked it with her rolling pin. An almost unconscious smile quirked Mrs Lovett's mouth as she leaned her weight on the cold lump of flour and water, flattening it into a circle. It had been a good morning so far. She had sold half a dozen pies (not without an envious glance) t p a family going on a picnic, and Mr Todd had sent two more men crashing onto the bake house floor, and though she Mrs Lovett hated the messy process of peeling their bloody flesh from their bones, she well appreciated the fresh supply of meat. Best of all, however, was that after she washed the flowerlike splashes of still-warm blood from his shirt, she had been able to convince the barber to come downstairs for a while, at least to have a glass of gin.

So now there he sat, frowning at his pale fingers as they gripped the glass, so very like that first grey London day when he had returned to her, just like that, no longer Benjamin Barker, but Sweeney Todd. Looking at him now, Mrs Lovett could still see traces of the young, naïve man he used to be; something in the tilt of his jaw, the soft shape of his mouth, spoke of a distant happiness, years ago, now all but forgotten. But Mrs Lovett thought that she almost preferred him twisted, darkened, as she had been by those long 15 years. He was stronger now, and dangerous. The way he looked at her as they danced around the kitchen, his hand cold on the back of her neck, or as he took her by the throat and pinned her against the wall… Benjamin Barker had made her want to melt, but Sweeney Todd made her want to burst into flames.

She gazed absently at Mr Todd, very glad at that moment that he couldn't read her thoughts, until she suddenly realized that he was gazing back at her, expression blank as a sheet of paper. Mrs Lovett looked quickly away, staring instead at the pale rain outside the bay window.

Todd didn't lower his eyes, however. He continued studying her face, though even he couldn't say why it fascinated him so. Her skin was the colour of milk, the delicate cheekbones, pointed chin, and large, darkened eyes making her face look almost fragile. Her mouth was also dark, almost bruised looking. Why was it like that? He wondered. The colour was smudged at the corner of her mouth, and h realized it must be lipstick. Todd had forgotten that women used such things. Her lips were moving, and it took the barber a moment to realize that she was speaking to him.

"Mr T? You listening?"

"What?" he said listlessly.

She rolled her eyes, though a teasing smile remained on her face. "Why were you staring at me?"

He was shaken slightly and his gaze flicked away from her painted mouth to meet her eyes, which were full of self-satisfaction and barely suppressed glee. That irritated him. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mrs Lovett," he said through clenched teeth, offering up a forced grin as proof of his innocence.

Her smirk didn't budge. "Have it your way, love."

He frowned, but at least she was quiet now, and so he let his mind wander again. Her hair, he noticed, was slightly better kempt than when he had first returned her, (however long ago that might be.) The curls that fell around her face where smoother, and dyed so rich a red as to be almost black. It reminded him of dried blood. He smiled at that.

"Mr T?"

He started, suddenly aware of himself again. What was he doing, staring like a fool at that woman's face? At least she had one, he reminded himself darkly. But that was no excuse, and he still cursed his damned, twisted mind for wandering again to Mrs Lovett.

"What?" He spoke in the same flat monotone as before, contrasting sharply with her slyly innocent tone when she next opened her annoyingly entrancing mouth.

"Would you try this for me, love?" She held up a spoonful of something, sauce or gravy probably. "I can't tell if it's right or not."

He could have dismissed her, of course, could have knocked the spoon out of her hand, or simply told her to leave him alone and she would have done it, but, without really knowing why, Mr Todd decided to humour Mrs Lovett. "Of course, my pet," he mumbled, pushing himself out of the chair and crossing the room to where she stood. He made to take the spoon from her, but the baker pulled it away, smirking.

"Open," she said, and hardly believing what he was doing, or _why_ for that matter, Mr Todd parted his lips. She pushed the spoon between them, and as his mouth was flooded with the rich, slightly smoky flavour of the sauce, he met her eyes, dancing with delight at her own cleverness, and at being able to make him do her bidding like he was. _Why _must they be so lovely, those eyes?

"Good?" Mrs Lovett asked, pulling the spoon back out of his mouth.

"Yes," Sweeney admitted, still gazing at her eyes. "It's very good."


	4. You and I Understand These Things

Sometimes, Sweeney Todd marveled at how easy it was

_Okay, so I rented Sweeney Todd on Tuesday and OH how the ideas flowed! This chapter probably takes place a few days after chapter three. It's a bit more Sweenetty than the others, but I think (or at least I hope) I kept everyone in character. Sooo… read on! voice from trunk in the corner And review!_

_Ah, yes, that too._

Sometimes, Sweeney Todd marveled at how easy it was. This life he led. It was easy to kill a man, to press the sharpened silver down until the flesh gave, drag it across the man's throat, white with lathered cream. It took no more effort than lifting his right hand, and the victim's heart would do the rest. It was easy, provided Mr Todd remembered not to let himself feel.

But that too was a small feat for the barber. H had become accustomed now, whenever those unbearable thoughts of his angelic Lucy found their way into his head, to distracting himself, sending his mind quickly elsewhere, away from that bottomless pool of pain. He might wonder what poet tasted like (for he had never tried those by-now-famous pies) or whether Judge Turpin's blood would be red when it finally spilled, or blackened by his many misdeeds.

Yes, it was easy for Sweeney Todd to keep things under control, whether it was a matter of holding a convulsing body still as he sliced its throat open, keeping his brooding mind from getting the best of him, or making that eminently practical pie maker downstairs do his bidding… Not that she seemed to mind doing what he said, though.

It was, the barber realized, very easy to think of Mrs Lovett, as well. _Too_ easy, in fact. _She_ entered his mind almost as frequently as Lucy or the judge nowadays, her dark eyes sparkling at him, a self-satisfied smirk playing around her mouth. _You can't get me out of your mind, can you, Mr T?_

He slammed the razor he'd been cleaning down onto the chiffonier, making the bottles of cologne rattle. _No! It's _easy! With considerable mental effort, he shoved the image of Mrs Lovett, (now pouting at him, hands on her hips,) from his mind, quickly picked up the razor again and began to polish it furiously, though it already shone like a mirror.

So then a distraught Mr Todd dropped his friend again and made his way to the _real_ mirror in the corner of his tonsorial parlour. Leaning forward, he stared at his reflection, trying to recognize something there, something that would remind him of who he was: Sweeney Todd, the man who did not falter. The broken glass fractured his image, making him look like a monster. And then suddenly, there _she_ was again, in the mirror, staring at him with wide eyes. He snarled, whirling around, only to find that she was _not_ an illusion summoned by his own madness to taunt him, but really there, standing with a hand still on the doorknob, looking at him uncertainly.

"Mr Todd?"

It would have been easy to explode- shout at her to leave, slam her against the wall, or slit her throat and watch the blood spray from her pretty white neck. But crossing the room in three strides, taking the breathless Mrs Lovett by the throat, cooling his fevered gaze in her dark eyes, and letting his lips collide with hers in a kiss that might never end- that was the easiest thing of all.

It was impossible, of course- and yet it was still happening. It seemed to the woman that as Mr Todd's mouth met hers, everything froze. It was as though the world had been moving at breakneck speed and had stumbled, and it was just about to pick itself up and keep going, but for that one moment, everything was beautifully, blissfully still. Mrs Lovett relaxed and allowed herself to lean into the kiss she had never thought she would get. She started to wrap her arms around the barber's neck, but just as quickly as he had warmed to her, he stiffened and pulled back, reopening the void between them and staring at her as though he didn't know her.

It was a horrible feeling, having the warmth of his form, so _alive_, drawn away from her. As the baker looked into Mr Todd's eyes, she saw that they were dead once more, with no hint of passion or rage to ignite the barley smoldering embers, and she knew that whatever wonderful madness had possessed him was gone now- vanished as quickly as it had gone.

"Mrs Lovett." He said it more as a question to himself- testing to see what that name meant to him, that as a ploy for her attention, but she answered anyway.

"Yes?"

"Leave me." It was difficult not to watch his lips as they moved, still flushed from that heartbreaking kiss he had granted her.

"But, Mr Todd"-

"_Get out!"_

She did.


	5. Love and Hate

She hated herself for loving him

_Sorry for the wait, but I've only just finished digging myself out from the massive pile of homework that has been dumped on me. This probably takes place a few days after chapter four. It started out just as Mrs Lovett angsting about you-know-who, and then it sort of developed a plot on its own. Very one-sided. Very angsty. Very Sweenett._

She hated herself for loving him. The way she pined after him hade her sick. She cursed her heart for fluttering when he smiled into the fire- its light hollowing his face with eerie shadows, making it look like something out of a dream- or for clenching uncomfortably when his eyes filled with passion that was not for her. She remembered bitterly how, when he had pinned her against the wall in a rage, her eyes had widened not with horror, but with desire, and when he had pushed her into her old chair and held a razor to her neck, she had closed her eyes not in fear, but in the ecstasy of his breath on her skin. She was disgusted with herself. But after everything he had done to her, and after all she had suffered because of him, Mrs Lovett knew she would still die for Sweeney Todd.

With a sigh, the baker turned away from her age-smeared mirror, her small hands idly twirling her frayed dark red curls. She readjusted one of her hairpins, liking the feeling of the metal as it scraped the back of her neck. It reminded her morbidly of a razor, cold and sharp, and she smiled until she realized she was thinking of _him_ again. Mrs Lovett frowned and sat promptly down on the couch, which creaked at her. _If only_ he loved her back, she thought (rather childishly,) then it wouldn't matter that she obsessed over him so much.

_But he doesn't love you back,_ said the clever, practical part of her, _so you have to stop this nonsense before things get any worse._ Mrs Lovett laughed humourlessly. If only it was so easy. She _had_ tried to stop thinking about him, stop staring when she thought he wasn't looking, but Sweeney Todd, it seemed, was an impossible man to forget, or ignore. There was a dark intensity about him that seemed to suck all light and energy from the room, drawing it into the black hole of his being. His smile was chiseled from ice, his cold eyes could sear through stone, and a flick of them in her direction was enough to bring the woman to her knees. No, Mrs Lovett was no match for the barber, and she knew it. Oh _why_ must he be so beautiful? She hated him for it, just as she hated herself for being so taken by his beauty. He didn't care for her, and that was that.

_But then what about that night in the shop? _The hopeful, naïve part of Mrs Lovett reminded the rest of her. _He kissed you, remember?_ Oh yes, she did. She remembered the look in his eyes, a desperate mix of passion, fury, and despair as he'd advanced on her, and the way he'd kissed her, as if he would fly apart into a million pieces if he stopped… But he _had_ stopped. The baker kicked half-heartedly at a ball of knitting on the floor and it rolled away from her on a tail of coarse black yarn. Of course he'd pulled back. He hadn't meant it. He was only toying with her. Unable to sit still, she stood and went to retrieve the ball of yarn. It was horrible; she would give him the world if she had it, and he would hardly bat an eyelash in return.

Mrs Lovett dropped her knitting on the cushion of the sofa and returned to the mirror where she began slowly taking the rusted silver pins out of her nest of hair. It was late and she knew she should be getting to bed, though she could still hear her beloved Mr Todd pacing like a predator upstairs. Mrs Lovett dropped another hairpin onto the top of her vanity at the exact moment a resounding crash sounded from the floor above, and for an absurd moment, she thought _that_ was what had caused the noise. Then there was the thunder of footsteps that meant Sweeney Todd was coming down the stairs, and she stepped away from the mirror, bracing herself for the oncoming storm. Truthfully, the baker had no idea what could have happened to put him into such a state of distress that he would come running down from his shop, but it had to be something. With a man like Sweeney Todd, there was always something.

Mrs Lovett was already backing into a corner when the door swung open with a creak that was almost violent., and Mr Todd stood in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes wild. He stepped forward, and the room seemed to small for him- a cage for a wild animal. In such a situation, the women hated herself for becoming lost in his glittering eyes as he advanced on her in fits and starts, as though unsure what to do or say to express the upset he was obviously feeling. Finally, "Help me."

Mrs Lovett had expected from him a roar or a shout of rage, a sob even, but not this: a plea. "W- what?"

He took another step towards her, but there was no malice in his movements, only desperation. He took her wrist though, and his grip was like a band of iron. Mrs Lovett felt something wet on her skin and she looked down in surprise. Blood smeared the hand that circled her wrist, and it was still flowing freely, slicking her skin and running onto her hand. Mr Todd didn't seem to notice though, and his eyes stayed steady on her face. His voice was low and his breath wavered on her face as he spoke.

"Help me to forget you."

His request pulsed through Mrs Lovett like an electric shock, though she didn't really understand what he meant, (or perhaps she just didn't want to) and so she smiled in what she hoped was a placating way and tried to control her shaking voice. "Why would you want to forget me, love?"

His grip tightened on her wrist, and she could feel the cut on his bloodstained hand pulsing against her skin. "Because I'm not supposed to think about _you_. I'm supposed to think about Lucy, about…" he seemed to be lost for words, and his hand was now so tightly clenched, she thought her wrist might snap. "But you, all I think about is _you!_ You're… _poisoning my mind, you infernal woman!_" His eyes lit with blinding fir, then, just as quickly, they burned out, leaving behind only ashen emptiness. He collapsed onto the couch. His hand still didn't release her arm, and she was pulled down next to him.

Her every nerve was thrumming with emotion, but what kind she couldn't say. The fact that he couldn't stop thinking about her sent a thrill up her spine, but… did she really want him like this? Longing for Lucy, even if he couldn't recall her face, and hating Mrs Lovett for how much he thought of her. Just like how she hated herself for loving _him_, the woman realized with a bitter smile. The irony sparkled cruelly at her like silver.

She glanced over at Mr Todd, sitting stiffly on the couch and staring at the opposite wall as if it was his salvation. Deciding it was safe to touch him, she gently uncurled his hand from her wrist. "Mr T, you're bleeding."

Undaunted by the moody silence he offered as a response, the baker took his hand in hers and examined it, wincing at what she saw. His palm was torn and bloody, and there was already a bruise coming up on his wrist. She realized with a frown that he must have slammed his hand into something hard -perhaps the wall- which would explain the crash.

"Oh, Mr T…" against her will, she felt genuine pity fore the man. One hand still holding his, she reached the other up and drew his head down to rest on her shoulder. Sweeney remained completely indifferent, limp as a propped-up corpse against her. With a sigh, the baker stroked his hair, while he remained silent and unmoving at her side. She hated herself for loving Sweeney Todd, but Mrs Lovett knew that she couldn't stop for the world.


	6. Feel

Time: A few days after chapter five

_Time: A few days after chapter five._

_Setting: During and a bit after "By the Sea" (though that's not really important to the plot.)_

_Sorry not much happens in this chapter. Just a lot of self-contemplation and sexual tension. Oo-er. But I promise more action in the next one._

She could tell from his eyes- their flat expression, the way light seemed to disappear into them, drowning, not reflecting in the black pools- that he wasn't listening to her. But it didn't bother her, for she wasn't really listening to herself either. Chattering was so natural to her that she hardly at to think as the words flowed out, meaningless. Sometimes she thought she could even see her voice, swirling though the air like water, playing across his stone-statue features like dappled light. It was beautiful.

As she spoke, hardly aware of what she was saying, Mrs Lovett leaned back on her elbows in the grass and watched the man next to her. He sat stiff as a ramrod, skin so pale and hair so dark, he might be a photograph shot in black and white. It was clear that Mr Todd was in another world, lost, probably, in some horrific memory of the past. Sometimes the baker tried to follow him to whatever strange thought-world he went to, to put herself in his position, imagine what it was like in his mind. But it was difficult.

Whenever Mrs Lovett tried to think of the pain of his memories, so much worse, she was sure, than her own fifteen years of loneliness, all she could picture was red- all of Sweeney Todd's anger and grief, smeared across the pristine white of Benjamin Barker's innocence. And when she tried to imagine what the inside of the man's mind might be like, all she saw was a twisted, dark landscape, full of shifting shadows and half-imagined horrors. Where the barber went in his mind, she could not follow, and so she stared at his face like a mirror- unable to see through it, but fascinated by the image she saw glittering on its surface.

Mrs Lovett did not know the half of it. If her voice was water, then he was drowning in it; if his anger was red, then the whole world had been stained crimson; and if the landscape of his mind was dark, then Sweeney Todd must be going blind. Though the man was numb to so much of the world, those things he _did_ feel seemed magnified a hundredfold, as if to make up for his indifference to everything else. Slashing the throat of a faceless man was easy, meaningless, but a glance at the portrait of his Lucy on the mantelpiece was enough to bring Mr Todd to his knees, and the mere mention of Judge Turpin could ignite such rage in his chest that he sometimes feared it would consume him entirely.

For the longest time, Lucy and the judge had been his two purposes, the only things that could make him feel anything at all. But now- now, there was Mrs Lovett.

Sweeney knew he didn't love her, at lease not with the same selfless devotion he had shown Lucy, or with the bittersweet tenderness he felt for Johanna. But neither did he hate her, as he did Turpin and the Beadle. This left the demon barber confused, for besides love, hate, and his own bottomless sorrow, what other emotions could there be? He used to think of her as a business partner- clever and practical, and before that as a neighbor- friendly and chatty. But now, since that night when he had- Todd winced at what he was sure was the terrible mistake of ever placing his lips on hers, and didn't permit himself to finish his mental sentence. Since _that night_, it was as though she was a different person, and he didn't know how to act around her. No, he didn't know what he felt for Mrs Lovett, but he knew that in a world of no emotion, she at least made him feel.

He no longer hated her for occupying his thoughts; he only resented himself for letting her into his head. And as self-loathing was nothing new to Sweeney Todd, he resigned himself to the fact that thinking of Mrs Lovett was just another hardship he had to endure in this hollow life of his.

She was getting to her feet next to him and he watched her, breasts pushed by her corset as she bent down to straighten her skirts, wine-coloured curls brushing her white shoulders. He had given up trying not to stare.

Back at Fleet Street, she served him tea- a waste of hot water she knew, for she was sure that every drop would still be in the cup when she took it back. She felt his eyes on the back of her neck as she turned away, like snow against her skin. They burned her. When she could stand it no longer, the baker looked around, intending to meet Mr Todd's gaze, but she found that he wasn't looking at her, but staring fixedly at the opposite wall.

Mrs Lovett frowned and rubbed the back of her neck. She could have sworn he had been looking this way… Shrugging, she tried for the umpteenth time to make conversation. "Nice day, innit, Mr T?"

Silence.

"Should have a few customers dropping by tomorrow. I saw the greengrocer from down the street, and the stubble on his cheek is something awful."

Silence.

What could he be so absorbed in that he wouldn't at least acknowledge her presence with his usual grunt or quick nod? "What's on your mind, love?"

Mr Todd picked up the cup and tipped his head back, drinking the tea as if it were alcohol. So much for a waste of hot water… He set the china down with a clink and turned to face her, his eyes like black coals. "You."

Her wide eyes displayed surprise, something close to delight, and also, fear. Mr Todd allowed himself a twisted smile. He liked it when he frightened her. Not really conscious of what he was doing, he let his eyes slide down her form and back up again, his husky voice like smoke. "I wonder if you might indulge me something, Mrs Lovett."

The woman's face lit with hope at his words, and when she spoke, her voice was laced with eager breath. "What do you want, love?"

Perhaps it was the breathless excitement- desperation, even- in her voice that brought the barber back to himself, made him really realize what he had been contemplating. Lucy had never sounded like that. Recovering quickly from his moment of weakness, Sweeny gestured lazily at the cup and saucer in front of him. "More tea."

Her face fell, and he could see disappointment plain in her dark eyes, but she took the china, put the kettle back over the fire, and took down the jar of tea leaves from the high shelf. He watched her as she reached for it, the slim lines of her waist, her chin tilted, disgusted with himself.


	7. Ever Hopeful

As she watched the greengrocer follow Mr Todd up the steps outside, Mrs Lovett couldn't help but smile

I don't know if this chapter is OOC or not… Sorry if you totally didn't see it coming (the events to follow I mean)… to tell you the truth, neither did I. It just sort of happened. But never fear, the plot (and the Sweenett) will continue hopefully smoothly from here.

As she watched the greengrocer follow Mr Todd up the steps outside, Mrs Lovett couldn't help but smile. Hadn't she told him that man would be by today? He would learn to listen to her, one day. She pounded the dough, little puffs of white flour rising from it like sneezes. One day. Her smile was sad, but not hopeless. Because if Mrs Lovett lost hope, her life would truly morph into the nightmare it sometimes seemed to be. The blood on her hands was bearable if she let herself hope that one day, it would all be washed away, and the hole in her heart didn't feel so vast if she let herself believe that one day it would be filled. That was how she had gotten through those flat, empty years after her husband had died and before her neighbour- (for that, amazingly, was all he really was) –had returned. Sometimes the baker wondered whether her eternal hopefulness was a blessing or a curse. She got the sensation that even if she could feel death's hot breath on her face, she would still be naïvely hoping for a way out.

Mrs Lovett was cut off from her rather morbid train of thought by the dusty tinkle of the bell on the shop door, and she looked up. A man stood in the doorway, hand still on the knob, and he didn't move further in, but remained where he was, shifting from foot to foot. He rubbed a hand nervously over his chin, which, the woman noted, was blue with stubble. She put down the rolling pin. "What can I do for you, dearie?"

"Ah, is Mr Todd in?"

_A customer!_ She shot a quick glance at the ceiling, above which the unfortunate greengrocer was surely spilling his life-blood down his front as she spoke. Mustn't let this man walk in on that. "Er, yes he is, but how about"-

But he was already stepping away from the door, saying over his shoulder, "Thank you very much, madam. I'll go speak to him now."

"No!" Her voice was louder than she'd intended, pitching slightly out of control and he paused, frowning. Mrs Lovett tried to smile. "I mean, can't I interest you in a nice hot pie first? You must be hungry, coming all the way from- where did you say you was from?"

His eyes narrowed. "I didn't. And I'm afraid I must decline your, ah, _offer_. I'm in something of a hurry." He turned again and started to leave, but once again the woman called after him, desperately.

"It's on the house!"

The man stopped and turned slowly back to face her, one eyebrow raised. She fixed a look of earnest goodwill on her pale face and added quickly, "And a free glass of gin, too."

"In my experience, madam, there's nothing comes without a cost." Annoyance scraped at Mrs Lovett's patience, wearing it thin. Why must this man be so mistrusting? Honestly, who in their right mind would turn down a free meal when it was offered to them?

She put a hand on her hip. "If it's not too bold to ask, _sir_, why are you so desperate for a bloody shave in the first place?" The baker winced slightly as the unintentional pun passed her lips, but she kept her eyes steady on the man, who was still standing resolutely in the doorway.

He frowned slightly, but remained largely unruffled, as though the woman's irritation was so far beneath him he could hardly see it from his lofty perch. Her brows met. "Well if you must know, it isn't a shave I needed to see Mr Todd about. It's just, a friend of mine- he's more of an acquaintance than a friend, an acquaintance who owes me a rather large sum of money- went missing recently. I heard the last place he'd been seen was at your establishment here in Fleet Street. I was wondering if you or Mr Todd might… know anything about it."

Mrs Lovett's blood ran cold, and her previous petty annoyance was forgotten in the face of this new, very real danger. He night be accusing the barber of the wrong crime- he was a murderer, not a thief- but either way, she knew this man could not be allowed to leave. Ever the actress, she tapped a finger against her lips in mock thought. "An indebted customer, you say? Well we gets lots of people here who's down on their luck… I don't suppose you could describe him for me, sir?" She was stalling for time. Maybe, if Mr Todd finished with the greengrocer quickly, he might come down to give her his shirt to wash, and then he could take care of this nuisance of a man for her. IT seemed unlikely the barber would come downstairs directly after a kill- he usually liked to stand and stare out the window, meticulously cleaning his razor for hours on end afterwards- but Mrs Lovett had to hope.

"- and reddish hair." With a jolt, the baker realized the man had just finished describing his "friend" to her, and she scrambled to pretend she knew what he was talking about.

"Ah, yes, reddish hair! I remember. Tom, his name was… or was it Bill? Popped by here a few weeks ago. Not seen him since, though. He didn't look like he had any money on him, not that I could really tell. I mean…" She trailed off, cursing herself for being caught off-guard. Lying usually came as easily as breathing to her.

The man rolled his eyes, as though he had expected little else from her, and Mrs Lovett's eyes narrowed in anger. "Very well, madam. Perhaps I'll go ask your business partner if he's"-

"Hang on!"

He turned again. "_What?_"

Panicked, the woman realized she had completely run out of excuses to keep the man in her shop, But he mustn't leave, she knew. Looking into his harried, arrogant face, she felt disgust and hatred bubble within her, thick and black. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she slid a hand across the counter behind her until her fingers curled around the smooth wooden handle of something she couldn't see. The baker's voice sounded strange to her own ears, distant, yet dripping with malice. "Come here."

The man heard the danger wavering in her voice as well, and his eyes were fearful. That made Mrs Lovett smile, and her grip tightened on the handle of the unknown instrument. _He mustn't leave._ "Come here, sir." She repeated. The formality sounded like a threat when she said it.

The words of politeness, in such an impolite tone seemed to incite the man, as though he suddenly remembered he didn't have to be taking thoughts from a common shopkeeper. He took a step forward, hands fisted. "Now look here, _madam_, I have been extremely tolerant of your incessant foolishness, though it is clear to me that you and your _partner_ upstairs are as guilty as two foxes in a henhouse. But continue to order me around, wench, and you'll be lucky if I don't call my friend Beadle Bamford as well as the police. I've heard other stories about what you and that ghost of a man have been doing round here, and I can tell you"-

Her heart was thudding so loudly it almost drowned out the man's harsh words. To someone else watching, she crossed the room cat-quick, but to Mrs Lovett, it seemed inexorably slow, as though she was floating dreamily through space rather than leaping swiftly across it. Her hand, however, did not waver, and the butcher's knife, when she brought it crashing into the man's skull, was the most solid thing she had ever felt. There was a horrifying crack, and hot blood sprayed into her face, as though fighting back while the rest of him could not. If not for the blood, she might have struck again, and again, but oddly enough, it was that shining red evidence of a man's death that kept her from drawing more of it.

Dropping the butcher's knife to the floor with a clang, Mrs Lovett backed slowly away, her chest still heaving as though a monster was trying to burst out of it. She was muttering to herself, and her voice was like the rustling of paper. "No. No. Not… it's not true." She wasn't sure if she was denying the man's previous accusations, or the current truth: that he was lying crumpled on the floor, blood spreading like a virus across the tiles, and that it was her fault. He was dead. And she had killed him.

Turning suddenly, Mrs Lovett threw up into the sink, choking and sobbing. How ridiculous. She was a woman who chopped apart human bodies every day, and here she was retching at a little blood on her floor. But it was different, oh, it was so different. There was something about the way he'd gone limp, so suddenly, and how he'd stopped breathing, just like that. It was one thing to strip away the flesh from a man someone else had killed; she could look away and pretend it was something else, not a real person. But in taking this man's life, it was as though she had marked him as her own, made him hers, and now she couldn't look at him. Was this how Mr Todd had felt when he'd first killed Signor Pirelli? No, surely not. Her Mr Todd was strong. He would never have fallen apart like she was. Mrs Lovett bit her lip and made herself look at the man on the floor. She had to be strong. Strong like her barber. The woman rolled up her sleeves.


	8. Romance

Sweeney Todd stood by the window, sharpening his recently-sated straight-razor, though it had long since become so keen that t

Again, probably OOC, and again, I don't much care… wow, I think I've run out of things to say! This must be a first. I suppose there's nothing left for you to do but read the story. Go on!

Sweeney Todd stood by the window, sharpening his recently-sated straight-razor, though it had long since become so keen that the edge was almost invisible when he peered along its length. The greengrocer had gone just like all the others- gurgling and choking on his own blood before sliding limply down the chute to the bake house floor below. The barber's sleeve still sported a splash of red, like a banner, proclaiming him a killer, but cleaning himself up was secondary to making sure that not a single fleck of scarlet remained on the smiling silver.

Pausing in his ministrations, Todd held up the razor for yet another careful inspection. His reflection grinned crookedly back at him in the perfectly polished surface. He was reminded of that first time he had been reunited with these friends of his after so many years of darkness, with no sparkle of silver to relieve his gloom. He remembered his joy, so absolute that he had all but forgotten the baker in the room with him, until he had caught sight of her face, reflected too in the mirror-like surface of the blade, and how he had turned to her and told her for the first of countless times, to leave him.

Sweeney sighed. If only she _would_ leave him alone, things would be so much easier. If only she would just get out of his head, Mr Todd might get some real peace while admiring his razors, without constant thoughts of _her_ interrupting his cold contemplations. He rolled his eyes. While he was thinking of it, though, he supposed he might as well go down and give Mrs Lovett his shirt to wash. She always complained that he waited until all the blood had dried into the fabric, and was therefore even harder to get out.

Folding up his razor with a snap and placing it carefully in its enameled wooden box, the barber made his way down the stairs, unbuttoning his faded black waistcoat as he did so. He frowned, however, when he saw the sign on door to the pie shop had been flipped to "Closed", for it was only five in the afternoon. The dinner rush would be here soon. What was that woman playing at? However, Mr Todd knew that the small dirty sign did not apply to him, and so he opened the door and peered cautiously inside.

The room beyond was empty and surprisingly clean, the floors scrubbed, the counter bare of its usual clutter, and the jars of flour, sugar, and other ingredients were carefully arranged on their shelves. It wasn't like Mrs Lovett to be so tidy, let alone to take time out of the day to make sure everything was spic and span. Frowning, Todd moved slowly into the shop, closing the door softly behind him. It was quiet, eerily so. He knew the boy was out on an errand, but where on earth was his foolish landlady? Didn't she know that customers would be here soon? Even with their recent affluence, they couldn't afford to miss even one night's worth of hungry patrons.

So the man didn't bother to make his voice gentle as he called sharply, "Mrs Lovett?"

For a moment, nothing. Then, a noise- so faint he might have imagined it- like the mew of a cat protesting as it's woken up, drifted from the parlour down the hall. Mr Todd's head whipped around at the sound, eyes narrowing, but his steps were still hesitant as he moved toward the room, and when he pushed the door wide, even _he_ was somewhat startled by what he saw.

Mrs Lovett sat hunched on the sofa, arms wrapped around her waist as though she were comforting herself, but her hands were clenched so tightly on her sleeves that the tips of her fingers were white. She was trembling ever so slightly and her eyes were wide, though he got the impression that she didn't see the dark room around her at all. In sharp contrast to her surroundings, (which were also spotless and painstakingly organized,) blood, red as a sunset was sprinkled almost delicately across her bone-white skin, and her dress showed darker spots where more of the stuff had stained the material. She didn't look at him.

The demon barber was taken aback. He had never seen his business partner like this. _He_ was usually the brooding, blood-spattered one. Uncertain of how to behave, he took a step towards her, saying softly this time, "Mrs Lovett?"

She didn't move, but he was sure she had heard him. Awkwardly, he sat down next to her on the sofa, though truthfully he wished he could retreat quickly back up to his barbershop and pretend he hadn't seen this pale, bloody ghost that was Mrs Lovett. He didn't know how to talk to a woman, let alone comfort one- he'd hardly seen one in fifteen years. Still, "W-what happened?" He mumbled.

The baker's gaze never left the opposite wall, and Sweeney briefly wondered if this was what _he_ was like most of the time. Her mouth quirked in a horrible smile. "I killed him." She sounded as though she hardly believed it herself.

"Who?" It was all he could think to say.

"A- a customer. He…" She wavered for the first time, and her staring eyes were glazed with- they couldn't be tears? Mr Todd had never seen Mrs Lovett cry before, and he had no idea how to react. What had Benjamin Barker done when Lucy cried? Mr Todd placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on the back of his landlady's neck, wincing at her cold skin. It was as though it had been taking all the strength she had to hold herself together, and now this contact was too much. She collapsed against him, holding onto his jacket for dear life, and he could hardly hear her words- choked out between sobs and muffled against his chest. "He.. he'd found out about us… came p-poking round… s-said he'd call the Beadle, and I… I just couldn't let them come after us… after you. Oh, Mr T, I'm s-so sorry…"

He didn't understand why she was apologizing, but it hardly mattered in the light of those words that had come before. "And you did that… for me?" Her head moved against his chest as she nodded, sniffing. Sweeney Todd was stunned. He couldn't believe Mrs Lovett would do such a thing for him- _kill _for him. No one had done a thing for the barber since before Australia, and he had long since ceased to expect any kind of favour from another human being. But the woman clinging to him had risked her life, by taking another's, to keep _him_ from being discovered. He was… _proud_ of her. She had proved to be much stronger than he'd previously thought her. She had _killed_ for him. Todd smiled.

Mrs Lovett was speaking again into his shirt, her voice small, but still thick with tears. "He deserved it…" Sweeney chuckled. That sounded more like the woman he knew.

It was surprisingly easy to wrap his arms around her, tuck her head under his chin, and stroke her tangled hair with his free hand. "Of course he did, my pet." Her stiff form began to relax in his arms, and the barber felt some of the tension ease in his own shoulders as well. They sat there on the sofa, him- waistcoat half-buttoned, a splash of red decorating his sleeve and a look of bemusement, cold appreciation, and wonder gracing his features- and her- face pressed against his chest, her hair tangled and tears melting the dried blood on her cheeks- a perverted picture of romance.


	9. The Tide

"What's stopping you, love

_This took me a bit longer than most of my stuff to write, and went through several different versions. It's sort of supposed to be just after the "we could have a life" scene, supposing Anthony didn't walk in. (Yes I know there are a lot of those, but bear with me.) I tried my best to keep everyone in character. So to set the scene, Sweeney has just turned around…_

"What's stopping you, love?" She asked him softly, as if she didn't know perfectly well, as if the reason he couldn't love her didn't weigh on her mind each and every day, with all the heavy finality of Sweeney Todd's own despair. He stared at her a moment longer, but the emotions scribed across his features were written in a language she couldn't read- slanting and strange. Expressionless, he turned away again, leaning against the window and staring out at the grey city like a child stares at an anthill he's about to step on.

Mrs Lovett knew the barber was telling her that their conversation was over, but she just couldn't let the moment pass without trying one more time. For she knew that if she left now, what tiny flicker of compassion she had been able to awaken in his heart of metal and gears, would be lost, and she would never be able to bring him back to her again. They were teetering on the edge of some sickening drop, the baker felt. They couldn't keep this up forever, she knew (and perhaps had always known) but there was still time. It wasn't too late to turn back, to put the past behind them, salvage all that was left of their souls, and run away from this life that had betrayed them. She had to make him see that there was still hope.

Mrs Lovett placed a hand lightly on his tense shoulder, hoping that he couldn't feel her trembling through the fabric of his shirt. "She's gone, Mr Todd," she whispered again. He didn't move. She could feel her heartbeat in every fiber of her body as she put her mouth close to his ear and said quietly, "Lucy would want you to be happy. She'd want you to move on. Don't you think it's time to just… let it go?"

Mr Todd was quiet for so long that Mrs Lovett was about to turn away in defeat, when she heard him say, "We're different, you and I. We don't want the same things."

The baker seized on his reply, saying quickly, "But I told you, love, I don't need the sea. It's just dream, that's all. I don't need anything, Mr Todd, except…" she winced at the intense vulnerability in her voice "…except you."

His voice was as flat and cold as a sheet of metal. "Why?"

Mrs Lovett was stunned. She had never before paused to think of a justification for her devotion; it was just something she had always just known. "Because…" Why _did_ she love Sweeney Todd?- a man who had never give her a second glance all his life, who would as soon kill her as kiss her. She still didn't doubt that she truly did love him; just the feeling of his arm warming beneath her hand was setting her pulse drumming in her ears. But it had to be more than physical attraction. What was it about this man that moved her so? "Because… you're clever, and strong, and… you weren't scared off by me…" She thought of their fifteen years apart, and what they had each endured- their pale skin and matching hollow eyes. "And because you know what pain's like." He was so still Mrs Lovett could barely feel the shallow breaths that stirred his body. She dropped her hand from his shoulder, fingertips brushing his sleeve as they fell back to her side. "I've lost things too, Mr T. We're not so different as you think." Her lips moved still closer to his ear, and she was whispering now, pleading. "I can help you, love. I can understand you. No one else could care for you like me… just let me help you."

He turned his head slightly so their faces were inches apart. Mrs Lovett had been about to say something more- something about his eyes, perhaps, or about how delightfully sinister she found him- but his breath hitting her lips swept everything else from her mind. "How can you help me?" he murmured, his voice like velvet against her cheek.

A thrill went up her spine and she leaned into the sound of his words, letting her hand trace back up his arm to caress his neck. "Do you really want to know?" she said in a breathy whisper.

Suddenly, Mr Todd turned all the way round to face her, but his eyes held none of the tender passion she had been hoping to see. They were empty. "Yes," he hissed, "I do." He took a step forward and Mrs Lovett, worried by those bitter black eyes, moved back in turn. He continued, "In the darkness, when I'm blind, and all I can think of is Lucy, how will _you_ help me?"

"I…"

"And when the blood on my hands soaks in so deep I think it'll never come out, how will _you_ make it go away? How can you help me when the walls of my mind are closing in, and the bodies are piling up, and I'm constantly haunted by memories of my _dead wife_, and revenge is _still_ just beyond my grasp?" He had her backed into the corner, and now he pressed her against the wall, black eyes boring agonizingly into hers. A violent smile twisted his mouth. "Well? Tell me, Mrs Lovett, I want to know."

Somewhat to Todd's disappointment, the baker's face displayed no fear, but rather a burning tenderness that, against his will, made his breathing calm slightly. Her eyes glittered with tears, and she looked away from him. "I can't," she whispered. "I'll never be able to replace Lucy, Mr T, and I'll never be able to completely rid you of all that blood and death." Gathering her courage, she met his gaze again, and though her chest still rose and fell with breathless gasps, her eyes were calm. "But I can try to help you to forget it all, if only for a little while. When you're lost like that, or when those demons won't leave you alone, I'll be there to just… take your mind off things. You don't even have to pretend to love me" -he didn't know how much those words cost her- "I'll just be like a distraction. To help you forget."

Her dry lips were curved into a tentative smile and her dark eyes shone with devotion. He wanted to burn her trust, to chase it from her face, to make her see that he was a monster who didn't deserve her love. He wanted to hurt her.

And so he was not gentle when he brought his lips crashing down on hers, and when she tilted her head to kiss him back, he gripped the nape of her neck so hard that she let out a whimper of pain. But she didn't pull away. She wrapped her arms around his neck gently, in contrast to his death grip, and the pressure of her mouth was soft against his crushing kiss. Like sand through his fingers, Todd found that his anger was slipping away. He tried to hold onto it, tried press her harder into the wall, but he couldn't. And as his fury was rushing out like a tide, he was filled by the most beautiful emptiness, so different from anything else he knew. While Sweeney Todd's emotions were always in the sharpest focus, the edges clear and hard, being empty was like looking through smoked glass, everything soft and indistinct. It didn't matter that another wave of anger was as sure to follow as the tide is sure to go in and out. Because now, in the lull between waves in his sea of fury- (her sea too, and she smiled against his mouth)- Mrs Lovett was there to help him forget.

_AN/ Sorry to say that I think this will be the last "chapter" in this series. It's just that I think Mr Todd and Mrs Lovett are in a pretty good place here (or in as good a place as they'll ever realistically get) so I think I'll leave them alone… unless I get a really good idea. _


End file.
